


A Life With You

by celestialfury



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (mostly), Angst, Arya is a bit conflicted, Arya's perspective on the proposal, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, POV Arya Stark, Pining, Sandor gives Arya a much needed push, it's fine they get their happy ending lol, possible chapter 2 coming in the future for Gendry's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 12:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfury/pseuds/celestialfury
Summary: In her stunned silence, she wondered how she would react if the circumstances were different. Would she agree? Would she yell at him for being stupid? Would she run? Would she argue?None of that mattered, but she stared at him as he gazed upon her like she was the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky. Adoration was clear on his face. She was reminded of their night together, but there was a thrilled wonder in his eyes then; this was pure, this was—Not something she was ready to face.





	A Life With You

**Author's Note:**

> So here you go! This is basically a rewrite, with Arya's POV on the proposal and her riding from King's Landing to Gendry LIKE IT WAS MEANT TO BE
> 
> Sorry for any possible mistakes, this was not beta read. Enjoy the mess!

***

Tired. So tired, could barely see. Coughing, chest painful.

Had to find…

“Gendry,” she rasped, and blackness enveloped her.

***

Bull’s eye.

Arya took another arrow out of the quiver and straightened her back, getting ready to shoot again. The sounds of drunken laughter echoed on the brick walls around her. She furrowed her brows, but her hands were as sure as ever as she released the arrow, hitting her mark once more. The old Arya would join the festivities, enjoy the cheery atmosphere, the sweet relief of survival against all odds.

The old Arya? Was there _another_ Arya? She gripped the bow tighter. _She_ is _Arya, she’s still…_

She knew there was a reason she was isolating herself from all the others. She looked in the general direction of where all the festivities were happening. Her family was in there, and for once she was the heroine, like the ones from all the stories she used to love. It would hardly be a crime to enjoy herself, enjoy the food and drink, and warmth...

But _he_ was in there.

She wanted to laugh, but the sound was stuck in her throat. She’d faced Death incarnate and survived, yet the thought of facing _him_ was scaring her. She couldn’t even think about him, his eyes, his face, his _lips_ …

Her hands trembled. She took a deep breath and collected herself.

She’d underestimated the impact their night together would have on her, underestimated the feelings she held for him. She’d thought them to be a thing of the past, a childish infatuation. He was her best friend, and he was attractive, and she _trusted_ him. That night, all she’d wanted was to know what it was like to lie with a man. She’d never go to someone else, there was no one else for her, but she also hadn’t thought of the consequences. The feelings had never been gone; they’d been _dormant_.

She’d tried desperately to retain what little control she’d had in all this, but the task had proven to be more difficult than she’d previously thought, especially after what they’d done… It was terrifying.

She had only herself to blame, thinking it wise to be vulnerable, to open herself to humanity again. But then, she felt like she couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to. His presence was like a beacon in the night. She wanted to follow his light. Wanted him to warm her nights. Wanted…

She shook her head and finally drew another arrow, willing herself out of her trance. It didn’t matter what she wanted; she’d somehow managed to survive the long night, but she still had a very important name on her list. One she feared would finally be her undoing. She had to do it, had to _try_ if she ever wanted to sleep peacefully, if she wanted her _home_ to be safe.

She was going to die and she knew it. Why bother?

She placed the arrow carefully and drew her bow. She was _broken_. Felt like it, anyhow. Things she’d seen, what she’d _done…_ There was no coming back for her. There was a wound, or maybe a gaping hole, inside her. Felt like rotting.

Did he even want her? Not just physically; the entirety of her?

What if he didn’t?

What if he _did?_

Did it even matter? _He_ would be better off without her anyway.

Would he?

She released the arrow.

“Don’t shoot.”

_Gendry._

Her doubts seemed to evaporate. The sight of him was like a salve to her wounds. Calming, healing. She couldn’t stop it, felt the corner of her lips lift up in a small smile.

“It’s nighttime, it’s freezing, and everyone’s celebrating,” he said as he rushed to her side. She felt herself flush as he went to stand behind her. “You should be celebrating with them.”

She readied another shot. “I _am_ celebrating.” Another bull’s eye.

“Yeah, I am too.” There was excitement in his voice. She fought the urge to look at him as she reached for another arrow. She was losing this battle, she knew. “I’m not Gendry Waters anymore…” She finally turned at that. “I’m Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. By order of the queen.”

Warmth enveloped her as she took in his appearance. Clearly a few drinks in, he looked like he didn’t quite comprehend what was happening. He looked terrified. She couldn’t blame him, but fondness overwhelmed her at the sight nonetheless. She smiled in spite of herself. “Congratulations.”

She was truly happy for him, but before she even had time to process, he took a step forward and claimed her mouth.

_Oh. Oh no._

She felt truly powerless. She knew she should be absolutely terrified of the power he held over her, but in that moment she couldn’t find it in herself to care. His breath smelled of wine, and his lips were warm and soft on hers, his grip firm on her arms. She could almost forget about Cersei, about death.

He parted from her too soon, _way too soon,_ and she almost whined as she lingered in a daze. His voice brought her back to reality.

“I don’t know how to be lord of anything, I hardly know how to use a fork.” She almost laughed at that, _silly bull,_ but he gave her no time to react as he continued frantically. “All I know is that you’re _beautiful_ and… _I love you_ and… none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me. So be with me.” He smiled at her, and she wanted to run away and never, ever come back.

But she knew she couldn’t do that. There were a hundred reasons; she wasn’t ready to admit to most of them.

As he dropped on one knee before her, she almost stopped breathing. By the Gods, maybe she did. “Be my wife. Be the lady of Storm’s End.”

In her stunned silence, she wondered how she would react if the circumstances were different. Would she agree? Would she yell at him for being stupid? Would she run? Would she argue?

None of that mattered, but she stared at him as he gazed upon her like she was the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky. Adoration was clear on his face. She was reminded of their night together, but there was a thrilled wonder in his eyes then; this was pure, this was—

Not something she was ready to face. Even if she knew. And _she knew,_ because she _felt—_

It hurt all the more for it.

She knew what she was about to do would break his heart, break _her_ heart, but what he said… She couldn’t risk him going after her, couldn’t risk him trying to stop her. She wasn’t sure she could resist him if he tried, and he was a stubborn bull. But as she looked at him, seeing his nervous excitement, she couldn’t help herself. She knelt before him, putting aside her bow as she looked in wonder.

He was fascinating. She was a broken little girl, far from a proper lady, and he knew it, he _knew_ and still wanted her, looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered. Like she was precious.

_She shouldn’t be doing this_.

She gently took his face in her gloved hands and kissed him.

If she could, she’d stay with him like this forever, his mouth on hers. She never wanted to stop, knew what came after. His hands grabbed onto her elbows delicately as he urged her up, their lips never parting as they rose together. She wanted to cry, wanted to hold him, to tell him she’s his, and he’s _hers—_

But she couldn’t give him false hope. For all she knew, she’d die soon.

She desperately tried to memorize the feeling of his soft lips on hers, of his hot breath mingling with her own. How he trembles, how she melts, how they fit together. As they parted, she lingered, committing him to memory. She readied herself, her face an unreadable mask, but she couldn’t help a small smile pulling on her lips as he looked at her adoringly.

The least she could do was try to convince him to live on, even if _she_ couldn’t.

“You’ll be a wonderful lord,” she began, as she hid her emotions to the best of her abilities, “and any lady would be lucky to have you.” She saw the understanding slowly creep into his gaze. She forced herself to continue. “But I’m not a lady, I never have been. That’s not me.”

She watched a myriad of emotions play on his face and felt her heart clench painfully. She was the stupid one, she realized. She held as much power over him as he held over her. And while he chose only to love her, she used that power to hurt him.

_No, I’m protecting him,_ she thought, but her control was quickly waning. _I never meant to—_

She felt the mask slip away from her face as she turned away from him to draw another arrow. She didn’t want to play the game of faces anymore, not when he was standing there like he was broken.

And she did that to him. To her Gendry.

He took a step back, lost in thought. “I, uh,” he rasped and cleared his throat, “I need to…”

As she watched him walk away on unsteady legs, she started to wonder whether she was just another liar.

***

Arya gazed into the fire, sitting cross-legged on the ground. She’s been on her way to King’s Landing for days now, yet she couldn’t get _him_ out of her head.

_Be my wife._

He had to be out of his mind. Her? A wife? A _lady_? She couldn’t be a proper lady, not even for him. If he wanted that, there were others, more suitable, and surely willing to marry a handsome lord.

But then, the thought that he might just take _another_ made her blood boil.

He must’ve known what he was asking of her. It was like he didn’t know her. She furrowed her brows. But he _did_. So what did that mean? What did he _want_?

_Be with me._

The fire seemed to dance, flames circling and shaking as she looked on. She felt warmth envelop her. _That._ That was all she’d ever wanted. Just to be with him. He just had to make it more complicated. But then, so did she. Why sleep with him in the first place?

But the way he’d looked at her then, full of passion and awe, as if he thought—

_You’re beautiful._

She brought her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. There was a weird sensation in her stomach. Nobody thought she was beautiful, not ever. _Arya Horseface._ Never beautiful. Even if she vaguely understood that she wasn’t ugly, beauty was not her attribute. That was Sansa. That wasn’t her.

Yet, when he’d said it, it wasn’t a lie. How was it not a lie?

_I love you._

She grunted, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing them with the heels of her palms.

“What’d the idiot do this time?”

The Hound’s voice brought her back to reality.

“How did you… What’s it to you anyway?” she snapped back. He looked at her with a frown.

“You’re moping. It’s annoying.”

She snorted and saw the corner of his lips quirk. She doubted the Hound would be helpful; if anything, he’d get even more annoyed. But she was restless. Maybe confiding in someone would ease her thoughts.

After a long silence, she looked back at the fire. “He proposed. Asked me to be Lady of Storm’s End.”

“What a bloody cunt,” the Hound sputtered, shaking his head. “What’d you tell him?”

“That any lady would be lucky to have him, but that’s not who I am.”

“And why the fuck’d you say _that_?”

She stared at him, stunned. “ _What?_ ”

“I asked why the _fuck_ ’d you say that, what’re you deaf—“

“I _know_ what you said,” she hissed angrily. “But _why?_ It’s not like you to care.”

The Hound snorted. “Of course not. You’re just a bloody idiot, that’s all.” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “Look, girl, the way I see it, he’s a dumb cunt, but he’s not dumb enough to want to make you into something you’re not.”

“How would _you_ know?”

“ _Because he bloody loves you_ ,” he growled and rubbed his forehead, frustrated. Arya squinted at him. “The idiot was restless without you in sight during that feast. You think he cares about some fucking lordship? You’re all he cares about, been bloody clear since I saw you two with the Brotherhood. That boy may be a twat, but he’d protect you.”

“I can protect myself,” she replied.

“Don’t have to convince me, Night King-slayer,” he said. For a second, Arya thought his voice sounded softer than usual, but she ignored it. “But sometimes it’s not about protecting, it’s about caring. And he’d bloody die for you. And you love him too, since all you do is fucking mope.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him he couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about, that she was the one protecting _him,_ but she found the words stuck in her throat. After a moment, the Hound grunted and laid on his back.

“Why do you care?” she asked, her voice way too weak, but he just sighed.

“Just go to sleep, girl. Won’t kill the queen bitch half-awake.”

She laid down, trying to make herself more comfortable. The Hound was right. She’d face Cersei soon. Nothing else mattered; Arya would die soon anyway. No use in overthinking the past.

When she finally closed her eyes, she thought it’d be the queen’s face she’d imagine, but all she could see was the blue-eyed bull, stubborn even in her own head.

_None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me._

***

The Red Keep was crumbling. They both looked around, the Hound stopping before her. He looked shaken, but she was determined not to be scared.

He lingered a moment. “Go home, girl,” he said finally, and she stared at him, frowning. “Fire’ll get her. Or one of the Dothraki. Or maybe that dragon will eat her. Doesn’t matter, she’s dead.” He turned to her then, worry clear on his scarred face. “And you’ll be dead too, if you don’t get out of here.”

Her determination wavered, but she couldn’t give up now, not after everything that had happened. She forced herself forward as he turned away from her. “I’m going to kill her,” she hissed.

He grabbed her arm and tugged. She gasped. “You think you wanted revenge a long time?” he started, but she didn’t want to hear it. “I’d been after it all my life. It’s all I care about and look at me— _look at me!_ ” He tugged her again sharply and she looked up.

She saw his scars, his weathered face with all its dark lines. He was a broken shell, with no other purpose than revenge, a bitter being. But there was kindness in his eyes now, a kind of longing.

He was alone. He was _lonely._

He softly grabbed her by the back of her head. “You come with me, you _die_ here.” His voice was the softest she’d ever heard it, and she felt like she gained and lost something at the same time. She wanted to sob.

He was beyond help, or so he thought. But she wasn’t. She could still live. Still _love._

As the realization hit her, his hand dropped to her shoulder, giving her the last comforting stroke as he passed her. She stood still, her heart beating fast, thinking of the bastard boy she left behind. _She needed to get back to him._

She felt a wave of gratitude, along with a sense of grief overwhelming her suddenly. She turned back. “Sandor!” The man stopped, facing her after a moment. “Thank you,” she said simply, trying to put all her emotions into the two words.

Sandor Clegane smiled at her warmly and walked away.

She took a deep breath. And then she ran. And ran, and ran.

***

 She was in a fight for her life.

Crumbling, everything around her was crumbling. And _burning._ People were screaming, and wailing, and scrambling. She’d never seen such madness before. She’d never _felt_ such madness before. As she looked around her, the universe seemed to scream at her. _Live._

She briefly wondered if _he_ was here. She never even asked. What if he rode with the others? She frantically looked at the people around her as she ran. No, no, he was probably in Winterfell, or maybe Storm’s End, he wouldn’t… He couldn’t…

As she made her way through the crowds, suddenly she saw a man approach and she felt her heart jump. He was here, he was _here_ , he was—

“Have you seen my wife?”

_Be my wife._

With his face up-close as he passed her, she realized it wasn’t him after all.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She pushed forward, more determined than ever.

***

Her lungs felt heavy.

She was barely alive. She was sore all over, blood and dirt and ash covering her face and clothes. She looked around and her stomach lurched.

Death. Everywhere. It smelled like burning. And the bodies…

She was scared. She knew it was over, it _had to be over,_ but she looked at the dead surrounding her and shivered. A dry sob escaped her throat. She’d preached to know Death. She thought she’d killed Death. But this… She wished she could forget, but knew that was impossible. The images before her were searing themselves into her mind as surely as a knife cuts through flesh. The wound will heal, but the scars will remain.

She willed her legs to move further along the street. All she’d wanted was to survive. To live. What did that even mean? What was life to her?

She looked around, once again absorbing all the death around her. Then she noticed. Mothers with children, like those she’d tried to save. Little burnt hands clutching onto large bodies. Her hand went instinctively to her lower stomach. And then there were others. A couple dying in each other’s arms, their bodies forever linked in an embrace.

_Sometimes it’s not about protecting, it’s about caring._

_And he’d bloody die for you._

A stray tear made its way down her cheek. She felt like she slowly began to understand. It was never a battle between them. It was not about holding power over one another. It was just _them._ He was her pack.

As she got on the horse and rode away, there was just one thought in her mind. She let the name guide her.

_Gendry._

***

She was tiring by the minute.

She’d taken the kingsroad south, her horse in full gallop. She didn’t know how long she was on the road. Tiredness, hunger, and thirst were making her dizzy. She could only hope Gendry was in Storm’s End, and not back in Winterfell. She wouldn’t survive the journey. She barely knew whether she’d survive _this_ one.

She coughed and wheezed, gripping the reins.

When she felt like she’s going to pass out, she saw a figure on a horse in the distance. Her voice was surely too weak to shout, her lungs heavy.

Her vision blurred. She’d speed up, try to catch up, but her horse was tiring, too.

Her head was spinning. She jumped off her horse and tried to calm herself down, closing her eyes.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, her knees shaking with the effort, when she heard someone approach. The sound seemed distant; someone was saying something, but she couldn’t make out the words. She swallowed; her throat hurt.

She was weak, but she couldn’t give up. She didn’t survive just to give up now.

She had to find him. Had to find…

“Gendry,” she rasped.

She vaguely felt strong arms wrapping around her as blackness enveloped her.

***

The first thing she felt was warmth.

Even before she opened her eyes, she knew she was in a castle. She took a deep breath. Her lungs were a bit heavy, but she felt much better. She swallowed; it didn’t hurt. The pillows were comfortable and smelled like fresh air. She felt soft sheets beneath her, thick fur atop her body. One of her hands was resting comfortably on her belly, and the other…

“Gendry?” she whispered, her voice raspy from the lack of use. Gendry was sitting beside her bed, her hand tightly in between his, and his eyes closed as he slept. She noticed he was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn at Winterfell. She smiled softly to herself.

Fondness overwhelmed her as she looked at her bastard boy. He’d probably rarely left her bed. His face looked tired, but as he slept, he seemed at peace. She squeezed his hand softly and jumped a bit when he squeezed back.

He opened his eyes lazily. “Arya…” he murmured, his gaze slightly unfocused. As understanding slowly dawned on him, his eyes went wide and she squeezed his hand again, tugging at it a bit.

When he just stared at her in confusion, she rolled her eyes and tugged harder, grabbing his tunic. He fell on the bed, his head bumping slightly into her arm. She shifted to the side, as if to invite him to lay beside her. He looked stunned, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips, and his blue eyes were shining as he made himself comfortable by her side. She couldn’t help herself. She buried her head in his chest, grabbing onto his tunic with both hands, feeling his heart beat wildly under her palms.

“Arya, what—“

“Shut up.”

He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh and wrapped his arms around her.

***

She was finally with him. She survived, and Gendry was in her arms.

She didn’t want to wake, but felt herself getting hungry. Her hands were holding Gendry’s own, as his other arm was loosely wrapped around her waist. She felt his breath on her face. As she opened her eyes, she saw blue ones staring back at her. She would’ve laughed, or pushed him away, but his gaze grounded her.

It was a weird feeling.

“Hello,” he whispered, a soft smile playing on his lips.

She wanted to kiss him.

Instead, she turned her head and rolled away from him.

“So,” she began, and cleared her throat. “How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly four days,” he replied, sitting up. She missed his warmth already. “Luckily there are people here who knew how to help you. Arya, what the hell happened? When I found you—“

“That was you?” she whispered, looking at him. He nodded, his face solemn.

“It was. I was just… clearing my head.”

“Sneaking out of the castle, you mean.”

He just smirked at that. “I do that. It’s not like they can stop me. Though it drives my steward crazy. Anyway,” He turned to her fully, gazing at her with worry, his smile completely gone. “You were _dying_ , Arya. I don’t even wanna know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you. What were you doing alone on the road in that state?”

She chewed her lip, silently trying to come up with a reply. Suddenly, she was worried again. What if he didn’t want her anymore? And if he did, would she just _agree_ to be a lady?

But she wanted _him._ They could figure out the rest together.

As she was about to answer, he stopped her. “It’s okay, we can talk about this later,” he said, briefly squeezing her hand. “Let’s go eat now.”

She frowned, but as her stomach growled, she couldn’t find it in her to argue. Suddenly, she remembered.

“Jon?” she asked as she sat up, too worried to form a more complicated sentence. How stupid of her, how did she not think about him? He was still her brother, still a Stark in her mind.

Gendry simply smiled at her. “He’s safe, your family’s safe, don’t worry,” he comforted her. She felt herself releasing a breath as calmness washed over her.

Her family’s safe. That was all that mattered.

***

They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, like they never parted. They were inseparable, smiling and teasing each other constantly. Gendry finally changed his clothes and started wearing black fitted leathers; Arya found herself staring a bit too long at how well they hugged his body. He seemed happy, but there were times when he looked at her like she was going to disappear any second.

Arya knew they needed to talk, and soon. She was nervous, but with every day she spent at Storm’s End, she was more convinced that she belongs with him, and he with her. She almost died trying to go back to him. She deserved to be happy, _they_ deserved to be happy.

Gendry seemed to be content with having her around. Even though she knew they were both longing for more, they were friends first and foremost. Besides, as he mentioned to her one time, she was the only face in the whole castle he cared to see. She didn’t doubt that for a second. She saw how much he was struggling. But so was his steward. He approached them one morning and Gendry’s warm smile turned into a glare that could probably kill a lesser man. She had to step up and deal with the steward herself, settling the apparently urgent matters.

As Gendry stared at her in wonder, she punched him in the arm.

He gave her space, her own room, even though she was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind sleeping with him in one room, one _bed._ In fact, as she awoke in the middle of the night, _again_ , cold sweat covering her body, the horrid images still fresh in her mind, she decided to take the matters into her own hands and silently made her way into his quarters.

When he awoke, she scolded him for the lax security as she climbed into his bed.

***

She was restless.

Even being beside Gendry’s warm, welcoming body couldn’t make her fall asleep. All she saw was death and ashes. She let out a sob before she could stop herself.

“Arya?”

“They—They’re all dead, they burned and I couldn’t—“ She felt hot tears streaming down her face as Gendry’s arms wrapped around her, stroking her back. It was like everything inside her broke, and she couldn’t stop talking. She told him everything; about King’s Landing, about the Freys, the Red Wedding, the Faceless Men, how she’d been stabbed. He hugged her even tighter then, his hands fisting in her nightgown for a split second. He whispered words of comfort, kissing her head every now and then.

She wanted to drown in him.

She sobbed for what felt like hours. He rubbed comforting circles on her back with one hand, the other holding her head to his chest. She could hear his heart as she tried to calm her breathing. It was a comfort she didn’t know she needed.

Small hiccups still escaped her lips afterwards. Her head hurt. She needed to get out of bed. “Gendry?” she whispered. He let out a soft hum. “Can we get some fresh air?”

***

They were walking along the edge of the forest. She could hear water splashing in the distance. The air was chilly, but it wasn’t awfully cold. The sky was still mostly dark, but she could tell it was nearly dawn.

“I like it here,” he said. She looked at him; he had a thoughtful look on his face. “You can’t see the castle, and I can just pretend I’m just a lowborn smith riding with the outlaws, like good old times.” She blinked at him, confused.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Why?”

“‘Good old times’? Those were never—“

“You’re right. But at least we were together then.”          

She stopped abruptly and looked at him. She felt a flush rising to her cheeks.

He noticed her reaction and sighed. “Arya, look, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to pressure you. I was drunk and stupid, I should’ve known better than to ask—“

She put her fingers on his lips to silence him. His eyes were big and blue as the skies above as he looked at her in shock. She felt the warmth of his breath on her fingertips and withdrew her hand immediately. He smirked, but didn’t say a word.

“We’re together now, stupid. I’m not going anywhere.”

He frowned. “But what about—“

“I know I’m not a lady,” she began, and he stilled. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. She grabbed his hand and willed herself to continue. “But I also know I want to be with you. You’re my family.”

He smiled at that, clearly relieved. She grabbed his face in her hands, looking up into his eyes. They were full of hope.

The fact of the matter was, she was happy here, with him. He was her happiness, her comfort, her strength. Her love. She smiled slightly as the feeling overwhelmed her. She let it happen, let it wash over her. He waited, blue eyes looking passionately into hers.

“I love you,” she whispered, and he let out a breath, catching her into his arms and kissing her breathless. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she felt her feet lift off the ground as he hugged her tightly. She chuckled and he smiled against her lips.

“Arya, I love you, too,” he murmured, his breath mingling with hers, his voice full of wonder. He caught her lips again, his tongue brushing against hers and she felt dizzy with want. “Arya,” he whispered again as they parted, his fingers brushing through her hair, his lips making their way onto her neck.

“Gendry,” she whimpered as he kissed behind her ear. Her hands took hold of his tunic and she tugged as she made her way down onto the grass.

As they tore at each other’s clothes, it reminded her of their first time together. They were rushing again, not wanting to wait another second. It was frantic. It was all the emotions mixed together.

_You’re alive._

_We’re together._

_I need you._

_I love you._

_Finally._

They made love until the dawn came.

As Gendry carried her back to the castle, everyone they passed stared at them in shock. She couldn’t care less. And he _definitely_ couldn’t care less.

***

As they lay in his bed, spent but content, he brushed through her hair with his fingers and smiled fondly. “You have grass in your hair, m’lady.” She chuckled and slapped his arm playfully. His smile was blinding.

“It’s spring.” She murmured. He moved his hand from her head, down her body, caressing her curves. He had a distant look in his eyes.

“I once had a dream of spring,” he began, and she squinted her eyes at him. He continued. “You were there. You’re always there, in my dreams.” Her breath caught in her throat. “Your gown…”

“My _what?_ ”

He chuckled softly. “Your gown… it was like spring. Leaves, grass. _You_ were spring, like hope and… and life.” He looked into her eyes, uncertain, but honest. “I probably sound plain stupid, but—“

“You’re _my_ stupid. A stupid, bullheaded boy.” She took his face into her hands and he stared at her, an overwhelming softness in his gaze. “A life with you is all I—“

He kissed her then, and she sighed against his lips.

She only started her journey to heal, but he was going to be there with her every step of the way.

She smiled into the kiss _. If he could be her forest love, she could be his lady_.                

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading lol
> 
> Sorry if Gendry wasn't very well fleshed-out in this. I'm actually thinking about writing a chapter in his POV just to make up for that. The boy is not just there for Arya to pine over after all lol
> 
> Also I left the ending relatively open-ended: maybe they become Lord and Lady of Storm's End? or go back to Winterfell together? or they just ditch titles and become a pair of outlaws? who knows, the important thing is they're together!! ;____;
> 
> (but you can bet your ass they got married like instantly lol)


End file.
